The Interlopers
by E1701
Summary: An intrepid Arm crew must brave the dangers of an alternate universe. Total Annihilation/Starcraft(WIP)
1. Into the Breach...

3619

Secret Arm Research Facility, Gamma Oriens II – 2300 Hours

Commander Mototada tried to ignore the deep shadows that engulfed entire sections of corridor. Outside of his chassis, he felt vulnerable and weak. The dimmed lights of the night cycle were definately not helping things any. Why was it that every secret meeting for every discovery he'd ever witnessed been so late? However, he shivered with anticipation as he approached the massive blast door. As base commander, he was required to personally witness and approve major projects before he could allocate resources to further study. 

Mototada sumitted to the required retinal scan and voice identification. With an affirming beep, the door hissed open. He entered a small closet-sized airlock, and swiftly dressed in one of the durable environment suits lined up along one wall. Once garbed in the protective garment, he keyed open the inside hatch, and mentally prepared himself. He hated this particular lab.

The chamer was huge. Impossibly huge in fact, as it was over three light-minutes in diameter, yet resided inside of a relavtively small building buried in the crust of the ball of rock known to the Arm as Gamma Oriens II. The chamber was actually not in the building, but resided in it's own dimension. Scale was meaningless inside, since the minds of most intelligent species simply could not grasp what they were seeing. Only a few hundred yards from the hatch, rested a massive... contraption. Mototada could not for the life of him figure it out, but it certainly looked promising.

One of the nearest scientists, a dolphin, jetted over to the Commander. "Commander, welcome to our laboratory," it clicked, "Our demonstration is prepared."

With that, the dolphin slipped away, and the lead researcher, a Dr. Huxley, settled into a mesh hammock, and a nueral jack rose from a panel, and slipped into the link on the back of his skull, through a notch in his enviro suit. Suddenly, the great machine whirred, and a coiled protrusion extended from within, and swiveled to point out into empty space. A charge began building, sending blue streamers of Cherenkov radiation flaring out from the coils. To the Commander's shock, it resembled nothing more than a fancy weapon, which was confirmed in his mind when a rippling violet bolt blasted out of the tip, and soared off. Ten seconds later, there was a massive discharge from out across the chamber. The bolt had dissapeared from view almost immediately, but now, something strange was happening. A spiral of blue energy appeared far off, and began to swell larger at an amazing rate. 

Mototada found himself gaping as the vortex expanded to a amazing diameter of almost twenty light-seconds. Through the glare, he could see... stars? He turned to the dolphin. "What are we seeing?"

"That, Commander, is another dimension. What your are seeing are the stars of a galaxy exactly similar to ours in almost every respect."

"Almost every? I take it that some things are a bit different," he gestured, "over there?"

The dolphin whistled in the dolphin version of laughter. "A rather significant difference, actually. You see, we've already sent in some probes, and none of them have picked up any Arm, or even Core, transmissions."

The implication hit home. "You mean we don't exist over there?"

"Not necessarily. There is no reason to believe that Old Terra does not exist over there. However, the Arm and Core do not appear to have existed." It bobbed its head. "Of course, there is always the possibility of temporal dislocation." 

Mototada frowned. "So now that you can use this device reliably, what are your plans for it?"

The dolphin spun lazily. "We would very much like to send a manned scout ship in to that particular dimension, and discover what we can. If there is an abundance of planets, similar to this dimension, we can set up operations there and begin exapnding. This would be a major advantage over the Core."

The Commander nodded. "Yes, I can see your point. Resource gathering has been our top prority for some time. I will contact Arm High Command immediately about this."

The dolphin twitched its tail. "Thank you, Commander. When Dr. Huxley finishes with this round of testing, I will inform him."

Mototada nodded, and with a sigh of relief, exited the chamber, and entered the air lock. Slipping out of the suit, he opened the hatch, and set off back through the dreary corridors to his office. This time, his mind was too preoccupied to worry about shadows and darkness. However, it was with some relief that he entered the well-lit lift at the end of the hall. "Level 5," he called out. With an acknowledging beep, the lift began humming, and the neon green indicator swiftly advanced from 480 to 5.

The door to his officed hissed open welcomingly, and Mototada dropped into his desk chair, which molded itself to fit his posture. He reached out and touched a panel on his desk. Immediately, a neural jack snaked out and plugged into his skull. Now, in full mental control of his office, he set to work.

The lights dimmed slightly to his liking, and a hatch on his desktop snapped open and a tall glass of a tropical fruit juice popped up. Mototada took a long sip, then put the glass down, and swiveled to face a wall, which promptly lit up. Suddenly, the Arm logo flared to life on the screen. A few moments passed in silence while the link was activated, and then the logo was replaced with the dour image of Mototada's sector Commander. 

The balding man leaned foward, and smiled. "Commander, it is good to hear from you again. Is there anything I can do for you? Or have your scientists made a breakthrough?"

Mototada almost grinned. High Commander Robart Isgard had not been promoted for nothing. Speaking quickly, Mototada explained. Isgard's eyebrows rose higher and higher throught the narrative. Finally, as Mototada finished, he spoke.

"That sounds very promising Commander. I'll send the reports to Arm High Command," seeing Mototada's face fall, he continued. "However, you have my go-ahead. How many starships do you have in orbit currently?"

Mototada called up the information through his neural link. "Six heavy cruisers, twelve destroyers, and 184 assorted smaller craft."

Isgard tapped his desk in concentration. "Those aren't particularly important just yet, so take your pick. I can spare two of the cruisers, and five of the destroyers. Take your pick of landing craft and planetary garrision. That should be sufficient to establish a base on the other side." He paused. "Anything else, Commander?"

Mototada nodded. "Yes sir. Who should I place in charge of the expedition? I must remain here."

"I'll leave that choice up to you. I'm giving you the authority to promote that person to junior Commander rank. Fit them out with a Commander chassis."

"Yes sir. And while we are talking sir, may I inquire as to the general state of the War?"

Isgard grimaced. "You people should be safe for now. We're holding a line fifteen parsecs from Gamma Oriens, but losses are very heavy. They brought in several Dreadnoughts, and we lost over a hundred ships taking out just one of them. And worse, we have intelligence that they may be sending a command ship here." Isgard shook his head sadly. "I really hope that report doesn't prove to be true. High Command is diverting a fleet here, so we'll be on better ground with thirty-thousand reinforcements."

Mototada nodded sharply. "Yes sir. Gamma Oriens II, out."

The image blinked off the screen, to be replaced with a real-time image from Empyrrean's famous Crystal Shore. He stared idilly at the punding surf as he debated over who he would promote. There was Harison, his technical second in command, who was probably the most blindly loyal man in the army. Unfortunately, he was not much of a free thinker. Mototada needed someone who could adapt to radical circumstances. Baxter? No, the man was the most incredible pessimist, and not much of a leader. Suddenly he sat up. "Of course!"

Secret Arm Research Facility, Gamma Oriens II – 0200 Hours

A shrill beeping spiked through the warm comfort of the darkened room. Senior Liuetenant Marla Toric groaned miserably, and hesistated for a moment, preferring to remain under the snug, soft bed cover. Of course, duty got the better of her, and she called out, "Lights!" As the room began to fill with soft light, she clumsily staggered over to the nearby wall. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered to herself, donning her robe. 

She clomped over to the small vidscreen mounted over her sparse dining table, and settling into the closest force-chair, announced, "Vid, on." She began to yawn, but choked it down when Commander Mototada's grim visage appeared. At least he doesn't look as annoyed as usual, she thought.

Mototada spared not a second. "Lieutenant Toric, you will report to my office immediately, for new orders."

She stifled a surprised gasp. She couldn't imagine any reason for a summons, orders or no. "Yes sir!" she snapped, not caring how rediculous that sounded in her present attire.

Mototada nodded briskly, and said, "Oh, Lieutenant, you might want to dress first." It was with an amused twinkle in his eye that he broke the connection. 

Toric leaped up like she'd been hit with a shock rod. Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, she raced for the shower, ordering the computer to have a fresh uniform ready for her, when she got out.

In record time, she was jogging down the corridor outside of her room, and leaping between the closing doors of the lift at the end of the hall, breathed a sigh of relief as the doors snapped shut, and the lift began it's ascent to the upper levels.

A few moments later found her seated in a rigid, cold metal chair in front of Mototada's desk. He deliberately ignored her for a moment, perusing something that she couldn't see on his personal vidscreen. Finally though, when she could stand the silence no longer, she cleared her throat. The sound seemed to rouse the Commander. He glanced up, almost as if just noticing her sitting there. 

Silently, he got up, and walking around the broad desk, began to circle her, studying her like a predator. He quietly stepped around her, and circled until once again, he stood in front of her, obscuring her view of his desk. 

"Lieutenant." It was a simple statement, nothing more. Another pause. "I understand you never served in the Arm spaceforce?"

"Yes sir," she replied.

"So you have no shipboard experience?"

"No sir."

Mototada grunted. "Do you know First Sargeant Tarn?"

"Yes sir, he served in my section for several months," she answered.

The Commander nodded once. "Good, he did serve in the space-navy."

As the unbearable silence settled over the room once again, Toric could stand it no longer. Leaping out of her seat, she stood toe-to-toe with the Commander. "Sir, with all due respect, why the interrogation?"

Mototada's face hardened. "You presume to question my orders?"

"When your orders make no sense, and you interrogate me needlessly, yes I do." She finished with a huffed, "Sir."

Instead of the reprimand she expected, Mototada smiled broadly now. "That is exactly what I hoped to hear." He held up a hand to silence the forthcoming questions. Instead, he stepped over to his desk, and reaching behind his vidscreen, pulled out a small black box. Walking back over to Toric, he presented the case with great ceremony, and lifted the lid.

Even as she saw the glint of gold, Toric's heart went into her throat. 

There, nestled among synthesized velvet padding, lay the glittering golden Arm insignia, and on either side, the silver bars of Commander, third-class.

Toric gasped in awe, and Mototada chuckled. "Lieutenant," he began, but caught himself. "Commander Toric, as your commanding officer, I am extremely pleased to present you with the rank of Commander, junior grade, third-class." With a flourish, he removed her lieutenant's emblem, and affixed the new one to her collar. Slipping the case back onto his desktop, he motioned her to stand, and gravely shook her hand. "Let me be the first to congratulate you, Commander."

Toric gaped, but managed to choke out, "T-Thank you, sir!"

Mototada laughed again, at her discomfiture. "Of course, Commander, your new rank implies new responsibilities." He sighed, and returned to his seat behind his desk. "I have an opening for a Commander, and I needed the best person for the job." He nodded briefly in her direction. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me just yet, at least not until you hear the specifics." Mototada cautioned. "Scientists in Hyperspace Chamber 040 have made an amazing discovery. In fact, so amazing, the details are classified to all military personnel below Commander rank, and the scientists on the project." He paused for emphasis. "Keep that in mind, at all times."

Troic interuppted. "Sir, this is interesting, but what do you need me to do?"

"Slow down, Commander. The discovery was a welcome accident. While attempting to create a longer ranged, and possibly temporal bypassing version of the common Galactic Gate starship drive, the researchers stumbled upon an alternate universe." Toric started to speak, but Mototada nailed her with a glare. "The potential of such a device is such that we cannot allow the Core to ever learn of it. Myself, in conjunction with High Commander Isgard, have determined to begin exploitation of resources in this new dimension. This sort of resource, and eventually, warship, influx might be the deciding factor against the Core." Mototada stood, and gave the vidwall a mental command, revealing an image of the hyperspace chamber.

Two massive Arm cruisers dominated the scene, having hyperspaced into the precise coordinates. Several smaller vessels of various design and function surrounded them. All of them were in the process of being loaded with various supplies and equipment, tiny worker craft towing loads into the holds of the vessels.

Mototada gestured at the view. "Commander, as you by now have guessed, we are going to send Arm ships into this alternate dimension to acertain it's value to us, and to begin construction of a secure base of operations." He turned pointedly back to Toric. "Are you up to the challenge, Commander?"

Toric straightened, and stood, stiffly. "Commander Mototada, it would be my honor."

Mototada nodded approvingly, and turned back to the screen, as Toric slipped out of the office to prepare herself, and her crew. 

Secret Arm Research Facility, Gamma Oriens II – 0430

Liuetenant (Commander, she mentally corrected, with no small amount of surprise) Toric pressed the vaccuum seals shut on her enviro suit inside the cluttered airlock. She felt the familiar hiss of contained life-support as she pulled the sealed hood over he head, being careful to keep her hair out of the way of the seals. She waited a moment for the suit to adjust itself to the perfect fit, hugging itself to her body, and sounding a small mental impulse to signify its readiness.

Toric inhaled deeply, and somewhat nervously. It was silly, she knew, but the sheer enormity of the hyperspace chamber chilled her to the bone, with some nameless, primal fear that all the logic and reason in the universe could not dispel. Steeling herself against a space so vast it could scarcly be imagined, let alone visualized, she gave the airlock door a mental command, and it rolled open with a rediculous ceremony of rumbling and hissing.

Focusing on the floor directly ahead of her, Toric picked her way across a veritable minefield of equipment and scattered refuse. Only when someone spoke did she look up, and then, not more than required to make eye-contact. 

With an enthusiastic shout, Toric's new second in command, the newly promoted Lieutenant Palnor Tarn, drew her attention. "Hey, Commander, what're you doing up at this pattern-loving hour of the morning? I thought only us lesser beings had to be up now," he teased gently.

Toric groaned, and ignored the jibe, eliciting a laugh from the Lieutenant, who was safely out of her reach. "Don't remind me, Palnor, I haven't gotten my coffee-ration yet. Just give me the overview of what I'm supposed to command."

Palnor Tarn's eyebrows rose in mock indignation. "How dare they!" He laughed again. "Ok, commander, you've been handed a command that most Navy captains would be jealous of. Surprised you haven't noticed yet." He pointed upwards, still watching her.

Toric sighed, and followed the finger with her eyes. "I hear we got a couple of sh..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes went wide as she actually understood what she was seeing. "..._it_." Directly over her head, looking like nothing so much as an upside down metropolis, hovered about a half-dozen large vessels... which were dwarfed by two others. Gaping at the incredible sight, Toric barely heard Tarn's chuckle. 

"They did that to all of us at first, except for the navy boys, of course. The big one is our command ship, a heavy cruiser, the _Dauntless_. The smaller one is the light cruiser _Barathrum_. The others are destroyers," he glanced down at the screen in his hand. "_Rogue, Delbay, Montressor, Tkon, _and _Beldra_. The rest are either patrol corvettes, or landing craft, which are being loaded now."

Toric gulped, fighing vertigo. Taking in the enormity of it all, she unconciously measured herself up to this great task. "Um.. just how big is that thing?" She used the question as an excuse to look down at her second, annoyed that he wasn't as discomfited as she. 

"Which, the _Dauntless_?" Tarn waited for the affirming nod, and went on, consulting the small palm-screen. "She's 168.7 kilometers from stem to stern. A crew compliment of 12,630, 4,000 pilots, and an additional quartering for 740,000 soldiers and their units." Tarn took a breath, and started ticking off the highlights. "She's got the latest in weaponry and targetting, grade six dimensional flux shields, full hyperspace and galactic gate generation, four onboard cloning facilities, and of course, the dimensional transfer device is being mounted on it as we speak." 

Toric eyed the ships somewhat skeptically. "It doesn't look _that_ big."

"Oh, it wouldn't," responded Tarn, "it's about six hundred kilometers above us, so it looks somewhat smaller. Before Toric could interject another pointless remark, a cargo shuttle touched down nearby, drawing the Commander's attention, much to Tarn's relief. "Ah, Commander, this is our ride. Commander Mototada wants us to depart at the earliest convienience."

Toric started to follow, then stopped. "Now? I haven't packed yet, and I've barely been briefed!"

Tarn flashed her a pitying look. "That's right, you've never been in the Navy. You don't bring any clothes. The all-purpose nano-lather in your quarters will create a new uniform for you every day, since there's no room to store a wardrobe. As for your briefing, Captain Gerard has the details."

But Toric was still digesting the clothing deal. "Not enough room? That blazing thing is almost two hundred klicks long! How can they not have enough room for a closet for their commanding officer?"

Tarn's patience was slipping rapidly, and not for the first time, he wondered how he drew this assignment. "Commander, nearly one third of the entire ship's volume is taken up by the drives, the atomic motors, and weapons. Another third is taken up by the hangers, and battleunit maintenance facilities, and the last has to support nearly a million soldiers and sailors from more than six dozen species, many of which need seperate life-support systems. Space is at a premium here." He paused at the open shuttle airlock, and gestured Toric inside. 

For her part, Toric merely sighed irritably, and proceeded him into the shuttle. "So who is Captain Gerard, and why does he know more than I do?" Toric asked. 

"He's the Captain of the _Dauntless_, and commander of this fleet." Tarn supplied.

Toric frowned. "I thought I was in overall command?" she asked, self-conciously fingering the new rank bar affixed to her collar.

"Oh, you are." Tarn said. "You make the big decisions. But on his ship, it's his rules. You can make him fight, but he decides where, how, and when. You're free to order him of course, but he doesn't have to listen, if what you suggest involves anything that puts _his_ ship at risk."

Toric settled back into the seat, which helpfully molded itself to accomodate. She had a lot to learn about the complexities of command rank, but it seemed like Mototada wasn't going to give her time to figure it out. She wondered why briefly, but then found her attention drawn to the viewports where she could observe the ground drop away suddenly, and vanish in the mist-that-wasn't-there, while the giant sleek shapes overhead grew larger and larger.

Secret Arm Research Facility, Gamma Oriens II – 0530

The conference room aboard the _Dauntless_ was a bit more cramped than the small auditorium used by the base commander to address his large staff. In fact, it was merely a semi-circular room, only large enough to contain the table that matched the room's shape. Around the inside curve of the wall were holographic displays of the several dozen planets that _Dauntless_ had fought for. Arrayed around the outside curve of the table sat the senior staff, while Toric sat at the center of the flat end, flanked by Tarn and Captain Gerard.

As soon as they were all sitting, Gerard introduced his staff. Stanya Redrik, a lean, blonde woman, was the chief cloning scientist aboard. To her left sat Colonel Zau Rikett, a massively built heavyworlder, and commander of the XIX Corps, who made up the troop complement for the mission. The next officer appeared to be a spindly bundle of limbs folded into a geometrically unsound version of a chair. A Zhe'tlik, Omandro H'ting was the ship's chief gunnery officer and first mate. _Dauntless's_ Chief Medical Officer was Durand Ray, a sallow faced man who was apparently more at home in his laboratory than in any social setting. Finally, there was Professor Seyda, who floated a foot over the floor ensconed in his brine-filled environmental suit which suited his dolphin physiology much better than the raw air. He flipped his tail at Toric in a dolphin greeting as he introduced himself as Dr. Huxely's assistant on the project, and scientist in charge of the dimensional gateway device.

Introductions completed, Captain Gerard walked over to the corner of the room where he could face the entire assemblage. "As you are all by now aware," he began, "our scientists here have created a gateway to a parallel dimension." He gave Seyda a pointed look. "So far, we have had time to send several probes, and one manned scout vessel into the gateway, and have learned several things. First, apparently neither the Arm or Core exist in this dimension. History as we know it has never occured. We don't know what we will find over there, but we do know that all Galactic references are basically the same, as this alternate galaxy is almost perfectly identical to our own in most repects." Gerard's eyes rolled slightly, a barely noticable physical indication of a silent mental command he was issuing the computer. In the middle of the table, a brilliantly clear hologram of the galaxy appeared, rotating slowly. "Secondly," he continued, "we know that the transfer between dimensions has no discernable effect on organic tissue or computers. So we have recieved the final word from Commander Mototada. In six hours, this fleet will enter the gateway, and begin a basic exploration mission. We are to construct a deep space facility near the gateway on the other side, and return in thirty-six hours." Gerard paused, and looked around the room at the expectant faces, and finally settled on Toric. "Any questions?"

From the other end of the room, Omandro H'Ting unfolded himself slightly, and waved several limbs about in a gesture of finality. "Other than the dimensional transfer part, it sounds fairly routine," the computer said, automatically translating the Zhe'tlik's natural language, which sounded to most humans not unlike a burbling brook.

Gerard grimaced, and ignored his second in command. "Good. Now, if there are no further questions, we'll..." The Captain's voice trailed off, and the blood drained from his face. Barely a second later, alarms began to blare loudly, followed by computer-issued warnings. 

Toric leaped to her feet, mimiced by the other legged beings in the room. "What's going on!" she bellowed above the racket. When the answer wasn't immediately forthcoming by the scrambling officers, she grabbed Tarn by the shoulder, shouting, "Dammit Liuetenant, somebody tell me what's happening!"

Tarn closed his eyes in concentration, ignoring the continued wailing in the background. After what seemed a small eternity to Toric, Tarn's eyes flickered open, and his face was as pale as the captain's. "Commander! It's Core!"

"What?" She was having trouble wrapping her mind around the concept. After all, she had spent the last century on Gamma Oriens, and not once in that span had a Core ship dared to come within a thousand parsecs. She felt fingers grab her shoulder roughly, and looking down, was surprised to see that it was Gerard, who appeared to have composed himself after the initial shock. 

"Commander," he said, "come with me." As he pulled her towards the door leading to the _Dauntless's_ bridge, he called out, drowning out the fading alarm. "All senior officers to their stations! Professor Seyda, have the guard outside the door escort you to your quarters, and do not, under any circumstances, leave until this is over." Toric heard the dolphin begin to protest, but that was cut off by the door slamming shut behind her as Gerard propelled her onto the bridge.

Gerard wasted no time, and even as he took his central command chair, he was demanding status reports from frantic bridge officers.

Toric stood awkwardly at the back of the bridge, probably the only person without an assigned station or duty. She tried to at least look busy, by peering intently at the readout screens along the back wall, wich she hated to admit were mostly incomprehensible to her. She was concentrating so hard, in fact, that she almost didn't hear the bellowed, "Commander, report!"

Gaping, Toric spun around, taking in the wide circular bridge, it's hurried crew complement, the wide holoscreen which wrapped around the entire front wall; and the face that filled it. Instantly, she snapped to attention trying to hide her initial startled jump. "Commander Mototada, sir! Situation down here is," she glanced over at Captain Gerard for confirmation, "nominal. What's the situation in the base sir?" she ventured.

Mototada scowled grimly. "It's not looking good Commander. We aren't going to be having any interdimensional exursions anytime soon. I want you take your fleet, and get out of here any way you can." Before Toric could protest, Mototada blinked, and the view on the bridge of the _Dauntless_ switched to a satellite view of Gamma Oriens II from high orbit. In the near distance no less than six Core destroyers, massive black sillouettes against the stars, were being engaged by the remains of the Arm guard fleet. Clouds of fightercraft, too small to be seen individually at this distance, swarmed around the much larger capital ships, and wreckage already drifted about like so much interstellar litter. Even as the bridge crew watched, stunned into silence, an Arm cruiser equally as large as _Dauntless_ collaped in half, as a Core D-cannon shell slammed through the cruiser's impotent defenses, and punched through the ship like a railgun through cardboard.

"Oh God..." someone gasped.

They continued to watch the raging battle for a few moments, until in a flare of ruby laser-fire, the video feed went dead. The _Dauntless_ and her escorts were badly outmatched, and the crew knew it. 

Suddenly, Commander Mototada's scowling face reappeared on the screen, the cavernous interior of the combat unit bay vanishing into the hazy distance behind him. Even as a lift began carrying him to the cockpit of his Commander chassis, he turned and looked through the bridge crew, and right at Toric. "Commander Toric. The responsibility of this operation is yours now. We'll hold them off on the ground as long as we can, but they've been firing on our heavier defenses from orbit. You must remember to always put the people under your command first, they are your responsibility. And above all, the Core must not discover what we've done here. Leave no traces."

Before Toric could respond, the screen went blank. She felt an involuntary sob well up, but she quickly pushed it down. No time for that now. She turned to Gerard. "Captain, activate the dimensional transfer array."

Taking that chance with his ship rankled Gerard, but he knew better than she did that it was too late to escape. Core ships would intercept them in hyperspace long before they could get out a warning to other Arm forces. Taking a deep breath, he issued the order. In front of the ship, a massive blue-rimmed window opened, looking out on the stars of another universe. "Helm, take us through slowly," Gerard commanded. The enormous Arm space cruiser, and it's smaller escorts, began easing forward toward the rift in space-time. 

And that's when something else went wrong. A sensors tech looked up from his screens. "Captain, we've got an incoming hyperspace signature!" Even as the words left his mouth, with a command from Gerard, the main viewscreen switched to a new view. Even as Toric watched, horrified, the distinct jet-black forms of two Core destroyers phased out of hyperspace, seeming to fade from nowhere. A small range indicated under both ships showed them to still be over sixteen light-seconds away, but under the powerful magnification, they seemed terrifyingly close. 

Gerard swore explosively. "Helm, full speed ahead! Starboard batteries, open fire!"

Toric found herself being edged towards the back of the bridge area as Gerard took decisive action. She watched the viewscreens wide-eyed, as literally thousands of weapons exchanged fire across the vast distance. Ruby red laser bolts were faded to barely visible streaks as heavier green lasers, dimmed by the ship's filters, raced across the distance at near light-speed. Amidst the cross fire, she could spot occasional streaks of missiles and plasma rounds as the range closed. She found herself awestruck by the ferocity of the exchange. Annoyingly, the stern faced Tarn standing beside her seemed oblivious. But then, she reflected, he'd probably seen more than his share of space combat.

The same sensor tech who'd first reported the prescence of the Core ships now looked around again. "Captain, the other ships have safely entered the portal, we're the last ones."

Gerard settled into his command chair. "Excellent," he said, "take us thr - "

Gerard was interuppted by a wailing damage klaxon and flashing warning lights on many consoles. On the screen, the view shifted back to the portal, which flickered and contorted briefly. Gerard leaped to his feet, yelling, "Report!"

A damage control tech, pale faced and sweating announced, "Sir, we've taken a direct D-cannon hit to the bow. The power surge has damaged the dimensional transfer device." He listened to a mentally transmitted report. "Sir, they estimate the portal will collapse in 90 seconds."

Toric caught her breath, but to her surprise, Gerard merely nodded. "Very well, engines at full. Aft D-cannons, commence firing." Surprisingly agile for its bulk, _Dauntless_ accelerated rapidly to a high fraction of light-speed, and darted into the wobbling portal, while its aft batteries left one Core destroyer crippled, and the other badly damaged. Then a wave of mild nausea swept through the crew, and she found herself staring out the viewport into open space. Behind them, the portal finally collapsed.

Over the rocky planet known to the Arm as Oriens Gamma II, an electronic wave of dissapointment swept through the patterns as a massive orange fireball blossomed on the surface of the planet. A Commander had died. The facility they had been ordered to capture was in ruins, and the target of their search had escaped. Central Conciousness was not pleased.

Already far from the planet, and undetected by the Core fleet, a small cloaked capsule containing the latest memory updates of all base personnel raced away from the scene. It swung wide around one of Oriens Gamma's gas giants, and ducked into hyperspace with its precious cargo. 


	2. Disruption

Date Unknown

Arm Heavy Cruiser _Dauntless_, Location Unknown – 2310

For the second time that day, Toric found herself facing her new officers across the broad span of the conference room table. However, in stark contrast to the tension of the morning meeting prior to it's rude interruption, the mood that hung over the room now was smoothering. It had been most of a day since their rag-tag flotilla had thrown itself into the unknown, and everyone in the room had been busily engaged in repairs and sensor sweeps since then. The damage caused by a single direct D-cannon strike could be devestating, Toric reflected, even on such a massive vessel. And worse luck, it had happened to strike dangerously close to the bow holds containing the interdimensional transfer device, causing possibly fatal damage to it.

She waited a few moments for everyone to take their seats, then began the meeting without ceremony. "There are three things I want to know before we leave this room," she said firmly. "One, where the hell are we? Two, how badly are we damaged? And three, what can we do about it?" When no one aswered immediately, she ground her teeth togther menacingly. "I don't care who answers, I just want to be answered, and answered right."

The officers glanced about, somewhat abashed. After a moment of heavy silence, Professor Seyda spoke first. "Commander, as you know, we took a D-cannon hit to the bow sections, and while localized, the damage was extreme." As he spoke, a hologram of the _Dauntless_ appeared slowly rotating above the center of the table.

Toric, and several others who had not yet seen the extent of the damage, sucked in their breath. A shaft nearly 100 meters in diameter had been punched through the ship. 

Seyda continued. "The impact destoyed several critical power mains, as well as..." here he paused significantly, "the dimensional locator." Seeing confused looks, he amended, "The targeting device."

The news took a moment or two to sink in, but Toric suddenly gaped, hoping she was wrong about what she though he meant. Judging by the shocked and anxious expressions around the room, everyone else had reached the same conclusion. "You mean we can't go back?"

Seyda flipped his tail agitatedly. "It is unfortunate, but it is the truth. And before you ask, no, I do not know how to replace it, nor does anyone on my team."

Toric raised her voice over the ensuing uproar. "Quiet down people! We still have more pressing problems to deal with." 

The babble of raised voices died, and several of the officers glanced around guiltily. As soon as silence was again upon the room, Toric hit them all in turn with a scathing glare. Even Tarn and Gerard sat down, abashed.

"I still have two more questions. And keep in mind our new circumstances." Toric snapped. "I want a full fleet damage report, and repair estimates."

Gerard cleared his throat, and stood to speak. "We other than the irreplacable targetting device," he glanced at Seyda, "the repair drones are already at work. We should have that hole completely gone within the hour. The rest of the fleet is in good order, except for _Montressor_, which took more fire than even we did. They'll surivive, but their engines were destroyed. Since we do not have any drive specialists with us, the work is going somewhat slower. The engineers report it could take three days to get the drives fully operational again. Until then, it will need to be towed, which limits our cruising speed significantly."

Toric nodded glumly. "Now what do we do about this? We were supposed to establish a base of operations here, on the nearest planet. Where would that be?"

In a flutter of spidery appendages, the _Dauntless_'s first officer, Omandro H'Ting, lifted his body slightly into the air. "That's going to be something of a problem, Commander."

Toric turned her steely gaze on him. "What do you mean?" she asked in a tone of voice that suggested this be a damn good excuse. 

"As you know, Oriens Gamma happens to be situated in the gap between two galactic arms, where star density is quite low. Unfortunately, while we are in orbit of the star, the planetary system never formed in this universe. In this universe, there is nothing but loose gravel orbiting the star."

"Where's the next nearest planetary system then?"

H'Ting shrugged six limbs. "Unknown. We've completed sensor sweeps out to two hundred lightyears, and found no planets or asteroids of sufficient size. However," he paused significantly, "we have detected interstellar broadcasts."

"You mean artificial? As in created by intelligent life?" Troic pressed.

"Yes." Before he could be questioned further, he continued. "However, the source is roughly 300 parsecs from here, and the signal is too faint to decipher. We would need to get closer to the Signus cluster in the Sigittarus Arm."

Toric pondered this development for a moment, giving it careful deliberation, or what she hoped sounded like careful deliberation. "Set course for the source of those signals Captain Gerard. Take _Montressor_ in tow, and get the fleet into hyperspace."

Gerard closed his eyes, and suddenly a new holograph replaced the damage indicator on the conference table. It was a course overlay through hyperspace. Gerard looked over at Toric. "We'll be underway in a moment Commander. Estimated Time of Arrival is four days from now, at 1300 hours."

Nodding drowsily, Toric rose. "Alright, dismissed everyone, it's been a long day."

The lost fleet faded into the hyperspace of an alternate universe for the first time, confident that they, at least, had survived, and would strain every nerve to return home. The inky void remained empty for a time, but was for the second time lit by the light of another universe, as a second searing portal wavered into existence. There was no hesitation or distress about the dagger-shaped forms that briefly filled the portal before it again swirled shut. To the unaided eye, this new fleet of massive black warships would be little more than a flickering beast moving in front of the stars. A flash of warp energies, and again, the failed solar system was alone against the night, burning itself out as it had for so many aeons before the intrusion.

Arm Heavy Cruiser _Dauntless_, Location Unknown – 1430

The Arm fleet had been cruising through hyperspace for nearly four days now, and was nearly upon their objective, a cluster of solar systems where radio signals were being emitted in a great flurry. Unfortunately, Toric reflected, while repairs had finally been declared complete, Professor Seyda had made it very plain that while the "Inter-D" as the crew had begun calling it, worked fine, and could be used safely, the targetting and detection systems were essentially gone. If they did jump, it would be blind. Toric and Gerard had conferred, and decided that the safer course of action would be to investigate whatever civilization sprang from this particular universe, and attempt to find aid there.

At least she had a chair now, Toric thought from her designated bridge seat, that while situated off to one side, had a clear overview of the command deck. She had taken to sitting long shifts on the bridge, merely observing the activity. However, at one point, Colonel Rickett had given her a tour of the cavernous dropship hanger, where over a dozen massive dropships were arrayed and constantly prepped for launch. Peering inside the hanger of a dropship suspended over their heads, Toric had gaped, seeing thousands of Arm battleunits of every classification and function suspended in great racks within it's belly. The enormity of her command and responsibility had hit suddenly, causing the room to seem to swirl around her. Shrugging it off as vertigo, she had thanked the Colonel, then made her way back to the quieter confines of the bridge.

Of course, she knew it was only a momentary repreive, because is less than an hour, they would reach the source of the transmissions, and no one knew what to expect, she least of all. But she was the one the rest would turn to for leadership. Being overall Commander seemed suddenly like a very lonely position.

The big moment finally came almost an hour early, when the communication officer's console begin beeping steadily. Curious, Toric left her overwatch seat, and covered the distance to the flashing console in what she hoped looked like a dignified hustle, but what she feared looked like what it was... a sprint.

Suddenly nervous with the Commander standing next to his elbow, the communications officer checked his readings a few more times, and finally looked up. "Commander, we've intercepted a clear communication from a star system ahead. It's in the clear, a visual transmission between two starships."

Toric shivered nervously. "Put both sides on the screen, but do _not_, allow them to see us. Hell, keep them from knowing we _exist_, if possible," she snapped.

The startled comm officer glanced to H'Ting, who was folded into the command chair, for confirmation. 

H'Ting rose from the seat, and scuttled to the center of the command deck. "Crewman, that was a direct order from the Commander." Turning to the helmsman, he said, "Set course for that source, but do not take us out of hyperspace."

The helmsman, in a clipped voice, announced, "Aye sir, ETA to signal source, nine minutes, fifty-three seconds."

Above the tableau of the tense Arm bridge, the forward screens flickered to life with the intercepted transmission. On the left side of the screen was the visage of what was obviously a human man, with a steely grey beard and an aura of calculated cruelty. On the right was a second human, a younger man with what Toric quickly decided to be a ruggedly handsome face, who also sported the barest stubble of a beard.

For a few moments, the figures conversed in a tounge unitelligible to Toric or the rest of the crew. The comm officer activated the translation algorithims, frowned at the results, tried again, and swore at the computer. "Commander," he said, "there's gotta be something wrong with this computer. It's identifying their language as a slightly distorted form of Old Terran English."

Toric waved him off. "Just play it." Time enough to figure out that particular riddle later, although she already suspected she knew the answer. At that moment, Captain Gerard bolted onto the bridge, followed a heartbeat later by Lieutenant Tarn. Both paused in at the back of the bridge, so they wouldn't miss the conversation occuring onscreen.

"... and I can't believe even you are capable of allowing them all to die! You're using the Zerg as a weapon on innocent civilians, and as if that's not bad enough, you're sending down Kerrigan against the Protoss, with no backup!" growled the younger man with a dangerous edge.

The older man developed an insane glare, and hissed, "I've come too far! I will not be stopped by you, or the Zerg, or the Protoss! Jim, you will obey me or be crushed."

The younger man, now identified as "Jim", shook his head disgustedly. "The hell with you Mengsk. I'm going back there."

"I'm warning you Raynor, if you allow the Protoss to burn Tarsonis before the Zerg finish..." the threat hung in the air for a moment, then the transmission cut.

Toric turned to Gerard and Tarn, while scanning the wide bridge with it's suddenly silent crew. "Anyone make any sense of that?" she demanded. The translator worked, but some of the phrases and terms used by the two humans were unfamiliar, although the hostility between them was not.

A junior sensor tech stood from her position at the rear of the bridge, just to the left of the conference room doors. At Toric's affirming nod, she said, "Commander, I believe I can identify one of the phrases used in their discussion. According to my databanks, the word 'burn' was, among other things, once a vague colloquial term for scorching, or otherwise rendering the surface of a planet uninhabitable. That would make this 'Tarsonis' a planet that would seem to be in immediate danger of such a fate."

Toric walked over to the tech's station, and said, "That seems like and awful lot of if's in that assumption."

"Well," gulped the nervous tech, "this would seem to substantiate an event I've been picking up for the past two standard hours."

"An 'event'?" said Toric evenly. 

The tech nodded. "Yes sir. The fourth planet in this system supports an atmosphere that is well within Terran limits, and shows many signs of an industrial space-faring culture. I can pick up almost three billion human life signs. But there's something else there... millions, no, _billions_ of alien life-signs. They appear to be originating from some sort of FTL transfer node twenty-five thousand kilometers from the planet. I – I don't know what they are!" said the tech, with a notable look of desperation.

"Excellent work," Toric said, putting a friendly hand on the woman's shoulder. "Captain Gerard, can we communicate with this 'Jim' person without him spotting us?"

Gerard bit his lip. "It depends on their tech level Commander. I haven't seen anything to indicate that they can scan hyperspace. I tend to think as long as we remain here, they can't see us."

"Very well," Toric announced. "Hail his vessel." She felt her insides tense. Just like in the dropship hanger, the full weight of her decision fell upon her, and she sucked in a deep breath. At the comm-officer's glance, she began. 

"Damn!" 

Former Mar Sara Marshall Jim Raynor slammed his palm into the arm of his command seat aboard his command ship _Hyperion_. He fumed at Arcturus Mengsk, and the bridge crew quietly tried to make themselves invisible. "Of all the low-down slimy..." He was cut off mid-rant by a tonal beeping near the back of the bridge, and swinging around in the seat, snapped at the crew behind him. "What the hell is _that_?"

Several of the crew flinched at his tone, but one of them tapped thoughfully at the console, his expression melting into confusion. "Sir," she announced, "we're being hailed... and it's very strange."

Raynor seethed. "Now what? Kick the damn thing a few times, it works on my toaster oven."

"Uh, sir, the signal is directed at our ship alone, but it's tremendously powerful, and on a high frequency we can barely pick up." The flustered crewwoman bit her lip, and started punching sequences into the panel.

"Well, can we at least find out what it is?" Raynor said with a quiet lethality.

The woman didn't answer, but punched in a final combination. "Playing now sir," she announced unecessarily as the bridge forward screen fill with an image that was unmistakably the bridge of another starship. 

Raynor gaped involuntarily. The bridge on his screen appeared to be at least several times the size of his own. The center was taken up with an imposing command chair filled by a burly human who was clearly in charge. Next to the human stood what appeared to be a tumbleweed with compound eyes. The rear of the bridge, up on a terrace, was ringed with consoles and control panels, broken only by two doorways. Crewmen bustled about behind the Captain, but the floor in front of the command chair was empty, save for a young woman with russet hair, who wore a blue uniform and air of supreme confidence. 

"Greetings," she said. "Are you the one called Raynor Jim?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm Jim Raynor," said Raynor. "Who are you, and how did you know my name," he demanded pointedly.

The woman seemed momentarily taken aback, but she responded quickly. "We intercepted your communication with the lead vessel in the fleet that departed a moment ago. To answer your second question," she said, smiling now, "I am Arm Commander Marla Toric, and this is the _Dauntless_, the lead vessel under my command. 

Raynor frowned imperceptably. Toric seemed friendly enough, but he didn't like the idea of her spying on his conversation with Mengsk, nor her fleet which couldn't be seen. However, the Zerg were already beginning to land on Tarsonis, and he didn't want to stick around, no matter how much he wished he could save Kerrigan. "Listen, Commander...ah, Toric. Look, I'd love to sit and chat, and find out more about your invisible ships, but if we don't get out of the system, and fast, the Zerg are gonna spot us, and that won't be pretty," he said finally, in a rush. 

"Zerg? Is that what you call those... things?" Toric queried, eyebrow cocked. "Our sensors are reading over three billion human life-signs on that planet. What will happen to them?"

Raynor sighed miserably, acutely aware that the annihilation of Tarsonis was in good part, his fault. "They're dead. Those things are like organic killing machines... they're attracted by psionic emissions."

Toric's face froze. "What kind of psionics?"

Raynor shrugged, too absorbed in his guilt to notice her reaction. "Near as we can figure, any kind." He glanced up from the decking. "Look, we have got to go _now_, or they'll come for us too." At Toric's wintery glare, Raynor quailed. "Listen, I'd love to go back and save those people, but there's nothing we can do. I've only got what's left of the Mar Sara militia that's still loyal, and that's no where near what we'd need to save that planet. I'm sorry."

"Give me moment." Toric turned away from the now blank screen, and stood next to Gerard, still in his seat, and H'ting. "Captain Gerard, there are three billion humans on that planet, who are going to die without serious help. I want to save them, but I need to know, before I give the order, if I'm acting too much on emotion."

Gerard gazed at her impassively. "Commander, this is a risk, and some, perhaps many, fine soldiers will be back in the recloning tanks before long. That said, our singular, all important intent, is to protect organic life, and preserve our civilization." He paused. "These are not our citizens. But they are real flesh and blood humans. If Core does eventually succeed," He frowned at the concept. There were very few people who could still imagine something as dynamic as a victory or defeat. "It will be some comfort to know that somewhere, somewhen, the human race will continue. Those are innocent humans being slaughtered down there, we have the ability; we owe it to them and to ourselves to protect them. Even from each other."

Before Toric could comment on the captain's unusually verbose speech, H'Ting raised a segmented limb. "I must concurr. I do not know that we Zhe'tlik exist in this reality. But our goal is to preserve all sentient life." He gestured with three limbs at the screen. "And there it sits."

Toric smiled. "Thank you, both of you. Then I can give the order with a clear conscience." She stepped back to the foward part of the bridge. "Get Marshall Raynor back on the channel."

When the screen first went blank, Raynor had waited patiently for several seconds, but was soon glancing nervously at the black cloud of monsters pouring onto Tarsonis. At any second they might detect his fleet. Fortunately, as the urge to bolt was becoming undeniable, his main screen came back to life, once again displaying the Arm bridge, and it's occupants.

At the forefront, Commander Toric stepped forward, and almost instantly, with a rush of hope, Raynor _knew_. "You're going to help us?"

Toric's arched eyebrow indicated her surprise. "Yes, we have decided to assist you. However, we need to formulate a strategy, and quickly."

Raynor took a relieved breath, and said, with a ferverence that surprised even himself, "Thank you Commander." He quickly ducked back into business-as-usual mode though, since he knew the worst still lay ahead. "Well, Tarsonis isn't a world big on rural life. Most of the population lives in the big cities, so that's were we should concentrate the defenses." He waited for Toric's nod, then continued, "Tarsonis is defended by major space platforms, but those are probably shot to hell now, so we can ignore them."

"Yes, we noticed those," Toric stated. "However, we're not reading any power signatures from them anymore."

Raynor nodded. "Good. We won't have to tangle with them anyway. We'll be deploying our transports outside the major cities. According to the last report from Kerrigan, the Confederate military is holding out, but they won't last for long."

"What is the terrain like outside the cities?" Toric asked. 

Raynor shrugged. "Like most of the planets in the Koprulu sector; barren, flat," he shrugged again. "Lousy views, but plenty of room to land ships." Caught up with a sudden thought, Raynor gazed levelly at the Arm Commander. "Just how big are we talking, anyways?" he asked suspiciously.

Toric cleared her throat. "A bit over two klicks long," adding hastily, "but we'll only send one to each city."

"Alright, but..." Raynor stopped, and stared pointedly at her. "Two KLICKS? As in kilometers? Each?" He blinked, and swallowed hard, trying to fit this together in his mind. Several gasps around his bridge suggested he wasn't the only one having trouble with this idea. "Well, uh yeah, there's room... but two klicks? Shit!" Before Toric could remark on this, he held up a hand. "If we're gonna do this, we better do it now... so, uh, let's get to it!"

For a moment, Jim Raynor and Marla Toric shared a warrior's grin at the upcoming battle. 


	3. Command Trial

Sons of Korhal Base, New Gettysburg, Tarsonis – 1600

Private Doug Kershaw took a long pull of his cigarette, and breathed out a cloud of smoke into the face of his companion, Pat Winston. Winston took an appreciative sniff. 

"Say, you don't have any more of those, do ya?"

Doug grinned at him. "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't." He chuckled at his friend's grumbling, and took a long glance around the twisted wreckage and smashed buildings in front of them. Their squad had been holding a line against a small group of Protoss, who seemed to have been trying to fight the Zerg. 

"Damned if I know why we're here," Winston said thoughtfully, unknowingly echoing his friend's sentiments. "Seems to me them Protoss wanna kill the Zerg... I say let 'em."

"I hear ya, man." Doug methodically stubbed out his cigarette on the knee joint of his armor, and spat a wad of brown tobacco juice, which slapped on the steel partition in front of them, and dribbled down into the dirt. He coughed when Pat suddenly elbowed him in the chest.

"Hey, lookit that," Winston said, pointing. "Is that who I think it is?"

Doug turned to peer over his shoulder, and shifted heavily to turn the bulk of his armor. Stalking along the lines, just behind the rifle-pits, a lanky, but feminine figure in a Ghost's uniform peered out across the waste. "Hey, no shit! That is her!"

Winston sighed. "Man, lookit those legs... hey!" Kershaw had just punched him in the arm. "What's the deal?"

"She's an officer dipshit, and a teep." Doug waited a moment for the implications to sink in. "She hears you _thinkin_ that, and you'll be on KP duty for the rest of the war." Lieutenant Kerrigan was known to do exactly that.

"Oh." Pat Winston paused for a moment. "I bet she ain't that good anyway." This time he managed to duck the incoming fist, and laughed aloud.

Several other marines within earshot of the exchange chortled. 

Down the line, their unit leader, First Sargeant Osbourne, leaned out of the top hatch of his Siege Tank, which was stationed just behind the rifle pits. "Shaddap girls!" he bellowed. "You pukes keep it quiet on the line!"

Winston grumbled a few choice words under his breath, but Doug shushed him. "Now what d'you make of that?" Doug pointed back towards the Sargeant's tank, where Kerrigan had stopped, and was explaining something to the assembled squad leaders. 

When she finished talking, several of the non-coms turned away, visibly sagging. One corporal from another unit limply sank to the ground, staring at nothing. His eyes were the eyes of a dead man.

Winston shuddered. "Shit man, that does not look good at all."

Doug agreed. He glanced down the trench-line where a whisper was racing towards them. Leaning over, he caught the rumor as it spread down the lines like wildfire, and his blood turned to ice. _We've been abandoned!_ No way, Doug though rationally. There were over five hundred soldiers down here, there's no way we'd just be left behind. But one glance at Kerrigan, slumped miserably against the side of Sargeant Osbourne's tank, confimed the worst. 

Up and down the lines, a glum silence fell, the dopey jokes and comments of a moment ago choked off. Even the officers were quiet, merely standing around, staring out across the battlefield as if waiting for the end. It was is if no one knew what to say... but then, who does know what to say in the face of inevitable death? 

Kerrigan, seated in the shade of the big tank, slumped, defeated, and managed only a half-hearted oath at Arcturus's and Raynor's betrayal. Of all people, she though she could have at least counted on Jim.

Suddenly, to the north, the steady chatter of automatic fire reached them. The Zerg were making another big push from their colonies. Kerrigan stood wearily, and shouldered her canister rifle. If they were all dead, so be it. She at least would die on her feet.

All was still quiet on this front, when Winston suddenly elbowed Doug in the gut. "Hey, you see that out there?" He was pointing out across the battlefield, between and through smashed building faces, and twisted wreckage.

Doug stared hard into the debris. With the sun beginning to go down behind them, the glare off the broken glass and shredded metal that littered the field made it difficult to see, and Doug's eyes were watering despite his sun visor when he finally saw what Winston was pointing to. There was clear movement out there, only a few hundred yards in front of them, and he could see the glimmer of a Protoss shield, and the blue glow of dozens of psionic blades in the gathering twilight. 

"Oh hell," Winston muttered. Before he could add to that, Sargeant Osbourne, who had apparently also seen the incoming aliens, leaped to his feet, towering over the men in the rifle pits from the hatch of his tank. 

"Here they come boys, pour it on!" There was no cheering and shouting as there had been during earlier attacks. This time, they all knew there would be no last minute evacuation, and they were all here to stay, no matter what happened.

In scattered pockets along the line, as the marines caught sight of the Protoss, firing began in fits and spurts, finally swelling into a steady roar of unleashed firepower. A deep throated pounding behind them signaled the big siege guns going to work, and small geysers of earth were hurled skyward with each impact. 

A number of the Protoss warriors sucumbed to the massed fire, their shields flickering a brilliant electric blue before the wasp-like buzzing of the bullets found their lightly armored torsoes, causing them to drop, pouring out their lifeblood in equally vibrant azure into the strange soil of a planet alien to them. But onward they pressed, seemingly heedless of casualties, and then the bulky spider-like Dragoon mechs were returning the fire of the humans.

A few feet from where Doug Kershaw and Pat Winston were crouched behind a firing slit, a marine started to scream, but it was cut off just as quickly when a crackling energy sphere slammed into him, flinging him limply into the back of the trench. He didn't move again.

All along the line, the noise grew worse. Dying screams and groans mixed with cries of "Medic!" and harsh swearing by those only lightly wounded. It was an unholy cachophany of noise, and the soldiers still fighting simply shut it out of their minds.

In one section of trech, a Protoss footsoldier, all of seven feet tall and looking as alien as they came, leaped the rifle parapet and landed with surprising grace in the midst of several marines, beheading one off-hand with a swipe of the sizziling energy blades on it's wrists. Another nearby human hit the Protoss Zealot with a round of cussing that would have blistered paint when one of the blades neatly took his right arm off at the shoulder. The cursing cut off suddenly when the Protoss's other blade punched through the soldier's torso, just as the zealot itself was blown into bloody blue gobbets by a full autocannon barrage from a staggering Goliath mech.

The Terran line swayed and strained under the relentless assault, and one piece of trenchline changed hands five times in as many minutes. A flare lit the Terran rifle pits for a brief moment, as Sargeant Osbourne's tank brewed up, plasma rounds cooking off inside the hull, as it's killer, a heavy, crawling Protoss creation inched into view across the field. The center of the Terran lines were only seconds from utter route, as the Protoss reformed and began a second wave of charging footsoldiers.

Then all hell broke loose.

Blazing energy blades held high, dozens of Protoss footsoldiers broke cover and charged directly at the Terran line. There were too many of them, and the Protoss, screeching a victory howl, rushed the rifle pits, where the Terran soldiers grimly waited for death. Some of the Protoss fell, replaced by still more, and within a hundred yards of the humans, began sprinting, heedless into the fire.

An inhuman scream forcefully and suddenly drowned out all the clamor of pitched battle, and the earth beneath the Protoss simply erupted.

When the rumbling ceased, the humans who had instinctively hit the dirt cautiously peered over the field pits. Doug's ears were ringing despite his helmet's noise buffers, and beside him, he vaugely heard Winston stand up, and shout, "Holyshitholyshitholyshit!"

Driven by a stiff evening breeze, the pall of dust and smoke drifted away, revealing the battlefield. Marines who had their fingers ready on the trigger suddenly went slack jawed, and the sight drew a collective gasp of surprise from every unwounded soldier.

The ground over which the Protoss had been running was a decimated, cratered hell on earth. Fires burned in places, consuming Protoss bodies, and in other places, boiling mud simmered at the bottoms of craters twenty yards across, or more. The Protoss attackers were gone as surely as if they'd never existed. After the tumult of combat, the sudden silence was unnerving as the humans surveyed the carnage.

A few of the more adventerous souls left the trench to explore the wreck, no sooner had they left than they spotted shadows streaking along the ground. As they threw themselves flat, Doug looked up, and momentarily saw a wing of black shapes streak overhead. An instant later a pressure wave sucked the air from their lungs. Whatever they were, they were going rediculously fast. Amid a flutter of shouts, a second wing of aircraft appeared. These however, were cruising at a sedate subsonic velocity, and as they overflew the trenches, the marines spotted Wraiths in formation with strange delta-wing craft. As they passed overhead, one of the delta-wings waggled it's wings at them.

Cheering broke out all along the lines, and in the distance they could hear similar cheers from the men to the north fighting the Zerg. This time, the officers, including to the surprise of many, Kerrigan, joined in on the celebrations. 

Behind the front lines, Terran standard model dropships touched down, disgorging fresh marines and equipment. One of the newly arrived Vultures raced bolted towards the front lines. Engines screaming as it swerved wildly around craters, it skidded to a stop right behind the trenches, only a few feet from where Kerrigan and several dazed looking non-coms were gathered. The top hatch hissed open, and in one fluid motion, Jim Raynor vaulted from the cockpit and covered the distance in one stride, slamming into Kerrigan with all the grace of a steamroller. 

Kerrigan was bowled backwards a few feet by the force of the impact, but immediately pushed away from Raynor's rough embrace. "Jimmy? What the hell are you doing here? Arcturus said you were abandoning us!"

Raynor scowled now. "That bastard did try to leave you behind," he said, starting on a lengthly explanation.

Sitting on the lip of the trench, Doug pointed at the pair. "With the temperment of them two," he said learnedly, "it's hard to say whether they're gonna jump on each other like wild animals, or tear each others' heads off." He grinned. "Either way, it should be fun to watch, right?"

Winston didn't respond. Doug glanced over at his friend, and found Winston staring straight up, slack jawed and wide-eyed. Frowning, Doug glanced up, and up. He shoved back his sun visor and gaped. Around him other soldiers were doing the same.

Hovering over their heads, tinged gold and red with the last rays of the setting sun, was a ship. It was decorated with a symbol, the same symbol, Doug remembered, as were on the wings of the strange delta-wings that had gone over earlier, and while blocky and functional looking, carried two dozen obvious hatches on it's underside. And it blotted out the sky. 


End file.
